Drinking Games
by for-the-love-of-adonis
Summary: "Tell you what, El. Why don't we play a game, huh?" Ellis is excited about a new find. Nick would rather play a little drinking game.


**Warning:** Alcohol use. You did read the title, right?

 **A/N:** Pretty proud of this one. First non-Kingdom Hearts fic. Hopefully my next L4D2 story can be a little more tragic. I mean, zombie apocalypse stories can't _always_ be happy. But this one is. Lucky you.

* * *

"Nick. 'Ey, you'll never guess what I found," Ellis called, racing up the stairs of the abandoned house with obvious overexcitement before barreling into Nick's room. Nick didn't even have to bother calling dibs by now—he always took the room closest to a bathroom. There was something with Nick and hygiene, even though they rarely came across a place with running water anymore.

"Tits!" Nick started as the door flew open. He settled back, a steely look coming over his face as his eyes swept over that stupid grinning face in front of him. "Fucking hell. Didn't your inbred family teach you how to knock?" He rubbed at his forehead. "This is the goddamn zombie apocalypse, Hayseed, not a sleepover." He jabbed a pointed finger in the air, letting it languidly fall as he spoke. "If I'd had a gun in my hands I would've blown your head clear off your shoulders, you know that?"

"Sorry," Ellis remarked sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand and turning his glance downward. His hyperactive energy had transferred to his legs, which were now vibrating under him with frenzied energy.

"Well? Are you just going to stand there like an assclown hopped up on speed or are you going to show me whatever the hell has got you jumping around like your overalls are up your ass?"

Ellis grinned that same toothy grin, sliding his other hand from behind his back. He unfurled a brown, moldy looking shirt covered in dingy yellow splotches. "Check it out! The Midnight Riders! Shoot, Nick, I ain't even had one of these before the Green Flu. That lucky or what?"

Nick laughed a short, spiteful laugh. "Luck. In the apocalypse. Oh y'know, population decimated. Friends dead. Family dead. But hey, who the hell cares about that when you've got a Midnight Riders t-shirt on your back, right? Shit."

"Aw Nick, you gotta believe in luck. I mean, we found each other! That's pretty damn lucky, huh?" He draped the shirt over his shoulder and crossed his arms.

He rolled his eyes, picking up an empty bottle next to him and eyeing the stray few droplets of brown liquid inside. _Empty_. He dropped it with a hard clatter. "Getting stuck with a horse loving, trigger-happy son of a bitch is exactly why I stopped believing in luck. I swear to god— no, better yet, I swear on Jimmy Gibbs Jr.—"

Ellis gasped. "Nick. That's serious," he said in a hushed voice, his eyebrows furrowing.

"I swear—I swear if Ro and Coach hadn't been with us in Whispering Oaks I would've offed myself by the time you could say Kiddieland."

"Ohhh I get it," Ellis said, shifting his weight to one hip, looking at Nick appraisingly. A softer, pitying smile came over his face. "You miss 'em, huh? You've been acting all cranky since we got separated from Rochelle and Coach. That's sweet, Nick."

"Oh, fuck off, Cletus. You talk about your old, dead fuckbuddy Keith all the damn time. Don't pin your feelings on me. I don't have any." He shifted, the noise of empty bottles clinking from behind him. He reached around at the sound, pulling one out still half full. He looked at it appraisingly before taking three full swigs.

Ellis walked towards Nick, his hands on his hips. His smile grew as he spoke. "You're lonely. Mr. Big Fancy Suit, Mr. Sulky Gambling Man with the lady shoes. Lonely." He laughed. "Man, why didn't you just say somethin'? You want a hug or somethin'? Grown men can hug it out. Ain't no shame. My buddy Keith used to say that a man that can hug another man is the manliest type of—"

"Goddamnit Ellis. I'm. Not. Fucking. Lonely. And for another thing I—wait. Did you say _lady_ shoes? No, because I _know_ you didn't just say that, you ass." He looked down quickly, eyes scanning his feet for a moment before his eyes shot back up to glare daggers at the hillbilly inbred mechanic in front of him.

"Well yeah. Look at 'em. Thems lady shoes. Look at the way they get narrower at the front of 'em an' all. Like for a lady foot."

"You're a special kind of moron, Overalls. People's feet get narrower at the front. Your inbred genes may give you and your cousin-wives all webbed feet, but that's not normal, kid. Besides, you wouldn't know fashion if it bit you on the ass."

Ellis walked closer, throwing himself down in the empty space next to Nick, scooting closer so that they were bumping shoulders. "That's it, Nick. Vent it all out. It's okay," he said, patting Nick on the shoulder. "You can cry if you wanna."

Nick groaned, downing the last of his bottle. "Well I'll say one thing for luck. I was lucky enough to find four bottles of liquor in the cabinets downstairs. Maybe there is a god out there after all."

"Aw, that's the spirit, Nick."

"Mm. No. That's the _spirits_ , Ellis," he said, turning his bottle upside down and shaking it in a vain attempt to catch the last couple droplets. He stared at the bottle quietly, a cloudiness briefly overtaking his eyes.

He paused for another moment, wading in silence. He could still feel Ellis's hand ghosting his shoulder, despite the fact that Ellis was already distracted, busily shimmying out of his Bullshifters shirt and pulling on his newly found Midnight Riders t-shirt. Nick stared wordlessly at Ellis, catching the short-lived glimpse of bare skin before that godawful, ugly, dingy brown shirt came cascading over his torso, covering him up again.

The familiar warm feeling of alcohol permeating in his stomach made him smile a little. He stretched his arms, mustering a yawn, letting his hand fall resolutely on Ellis's shoulder.

"Tell you what, El. Why don't we play a game, huh?"

"Aw, man, I love games! We gonna have a zombie shootin' contest again? Cause I been practicin'. Or we could play one of the games we used t'play back home. This one time, me and my buddy Keith, we played this game with homemade bumper cars made out of ridin' mowers—"

Nick gripped Ellis shoulder, pulling him with a slight groan into a position where he was sitting in front of him. "Not that kind of game, champ. We're gonna play 'I've Never'."

Ellis gave him a funny look, scrunching his nose. "Ain't that a game for more than two people?"

"Does it look like we've got more than two people around, Cletus?" He gestured around them a little haphazardly. "We'll make do. Besides, I need an excuse to drink some more."

"You sure you wanna play a drinkin' game in your condition, Nick? I mean, you're kinda old to be drinkin' so heavily. 'Specially when you refuse to eat half the stuff we come across."

"Pasta in a can is a crime against humanity, Ellis." He reached over and smacked Ellis's hat downwards so that it fell halfway down his face. "And you call me old one more time and we're going to be playing Nick puts his _foot_ up Ellis's ass, so you better put your _own_ foot in your goddamn mouth, alright?" He reached behind him again, rummaging around to the tune of clinking glass noises, muttering under his breath with unmasked frustration.

Ellis laughed. "It's right 'ere, Nick," he said, leaning over and reaching behind Nick to grab the last full bottle of whiskey.

Nick stilled, having Ellis's face inches away from the side of his own. He could shift and he'd be able to feel the scratchiness of Ellis's stubble against his face. He had become acutely aware of their proximity, like Ellis was one shift of balance from falling into him, from transferring his body heat between them. He could lean forward and Ellis would be straddling him. He didn't give it much further thought though, given the slight swimming in his head and the quickness with which Ellis pulled back, waving the bottle in front of Nick's face.

"Alright I hope you know what you're signin' up for. Lemme go first." He stopped, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Well. I've never got a divorce." He smiled at his victory, placing the bottle in Nick's hands. "Drink up."

"Cheap," Nick remarked with a half-scowl, half-impressed-smile before taking a swig. He wiped his mouth with a satisfied exhale. "I've never played bumper cars with a lawnmower."

"Aw, that ain't fair Nick! I jus' told you that like five minutes ago!"

"And saying divorce was fair?" He laughed. "All bets are off now, Cletus." He shoved the bottle into Ellis's chest. "Drink up, yourself."

Ellis rolled his eyes, putting the bottle to his lips. "Well fine, Nick. I never wore lady shoes."

"Goddamnit, Ellis, they're NOT lady shoes!"

"Nuh-uh. No way. You're drinkin' to that one, Nick," Ellis replied with conviction in his voice, placing the bottle back into Nick's hands. He patted Nick's shoulder with an encouraging, slightly cheeky smile.

"Hell no."

"You drink or I'm not playin' no more. Them's the rules, Nick. You done it, you drink," he replied, crossing his arms with defiance. He narrowed his eyes to show he meant business.

"Fine. _Fine_. But _not_ because of _these_ shoes."

Ellis quirked an eyebrow. "You mean there was another time you—"

"Shut it," Nick remarked, knocking back another gulp. "You got what you wanted. And it was _one time._ Sometimes you gotta do some crazy shit to get some tail, okay? Let's just leave it at that."

Ellis laughed. "Damn, Nick, I never had t'dress up _as_ a lady to _get_ a lady."

"He-hey-hey. _Hey_. It's not your turn." He stared at Ellis with clouded vision again, his eyes wandering undisguisedly. A familiar, cruel smile took residence on his face. "Okay I got one. It's a—heh—it's a good one. A _gooood_ one," he said, drawing out the last few words before busting into laughter.

Ellis laughed with him, unused to Nick being so laugh happy. " _What_?" Nick's laughing began to unnerve him a little. "What is it? C'mon, spit it out, Nick."

"Never—I've never slept with Zoey," he slurred slightly. He smiled again. "Oh wait. Gimme that." He pawed the bottle and took a long swill, looking at Ellis with something akin to satisfaction and smacking his lips with exaggeration.

"Nick, that's not funny. Zoey's an angel."

Nick snorted. "It's pretty funny. Pretty _damn_ funny. You're one of the last damn guys—possibly the last good guy with morals and shit— in the fucking zombie apocalypse. The _zombie apocalypse_ , Ellis. And she still would sooner sleep with me than you." He busted up into another long, merciless bout of snickering.

"Hey man, fuck you. Don't say shit like that about Zoey. You didn't—she didn't do that with you."

"Alright, yeah, you're right," he chuckled. "You're right. So go, then. Your turn."

"Fine. Don't pull that shit again, man." He rubbed his forehead in thought for a second. "Kay, I never been t'space."

Nick gave him an incredulous look. "Seriously? C'mon, couldn't you have given me one I could actually drink to? Jesus."

Ellis shrugged. "Iono, you dress kinda like a spaceman. And a lady. Besides," he gestured to the bottle, "you've had plenty."

"I'm not a lightweight like you, kid." He placed the flask in between them, like a bargaining chip. "Now you gotta answer truthfully to this one, mkay, champ?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a hushed whisper. "I won't tell anyone."

"Yeah, sure, Nick," he said, puffing his chest out slightly. "I'm a man. I don't keep secrets."

Nick picked up the flask, bringing it right under his lips. "I've never been with a man," he spoke slowly, leaning his head back and taking a long, drawn out swallow. He pulled it slowly from his lips, his eyes level with Ellis's. He held it out for Ellis to take, raising an eyebrow.

Ellis looked down at the bottle. His eyebrows narrowed. "Nick—I haven't—I ain't ever been with a man. Not—not that there's anything wrong with that or nothin', I jus'—"

Nick leaned forward, pressing a hard kiss to Ellis's lips. Ellis stilled, his mouth unmoving as Nick's lips pressed against his. Ellis looked around wildly for a second. Nick brought a hand to his face, cupping his jaw lightly, his thumb offering a silent reassuring message as it drew slow circles against his skin. Ellis let his eyes fall closed, leaning in to the warmth emanating from the conman's lips. It didn't make any sense. It was _Nick_ and he was _kissing_ him but—he didn't mind. It was like his first taste of water after months of crawling through a desert, selling himself on sand, sand, sand. He turned his head, craning up again into Nick's reciprocating lips. He tasted of alcohol and mint.

Nick locked his arms around Ellis, sliding them down to where he was gripping him at the hips, tilting him to let his weight fall further on top of him. He reached down, pulling at Ellis's shirt lightly—a nonverbal request.

Ellis eyed him carefully. "You sure about this?"

Nick laughed again. "You know, as much as I like this ugly, dingy, flu-infested shirt, I think I'd like it much better on the floor."

"Don't be jealous of a shirt, Nick," Ellis replied teasingly. He sat up, peeling the shirt off himself. "You look better in white than green, anyway," he said, moving to place his hands on either side of Nick, right above his shoulders.

Nick stared at him for a long while before leaning in and placing a chaste kiss on Ellis's nose and another quick kiss on his lips. He smiled cheekily, remembering something.

"Hey, you better drink up when we're done here."

Ellis laughed. "I thought we were done with that game. 'Sides, you won't remember any of this anyway."

Nick pulled him down, muttering quietly between their lips. "Are you kidding? You would never let me forget."

"Nah, you'll be the same cranky, mean ol' Nick tomorrow. Especially with the hangover you're gonna have in the morning."

"Mm. Hey Ellis," he lifted the hat carefully off of Ellis's head, flinging it across the room. He smoothed the stray curly hairs out of his face. "You'll never guess what I found," he said, pressing his forehead against Ellis's and breathing quietly against him.

"Oh, I have some kind of idea, Nick" he managed to get out before Nick was rolling them over and pressing his lips wherever he could find. "Some kind of idea."


End file.
